Bath Time
by Kokolo
Summary: ."Bath time." "Non, mon cher." Gregstophe. Borderline smut, but not quite there. Why hadn't anyone tried this yet?


**More oneshot gregstophe goodness!**  
**Made simply because I wasn't able to find bath time goodness elsewhere. I only wish I had a long enough attention span I could have turned it into legitimate smut, but I can't seem to do that lately. Oh well.  
Mole is too much fun to write. His accent makes me giggle.**

**Enjoy**

* * *

"Christophe, love, I'm going to find you eventually." Gregory cooed, twirling his revolver around his finger.

There was no response from the other male lurking somewhere in the house, which was exactly as the Brit expected. He knew Mole knew what he was up to. He knew Mole would hide. But Gregory also knew that he was out of his element, unarmed (to the extent of long range weapons) and currently under him employment. To kill a constant source of money was not something Ze Mole would ever do.

Gregory smiled to himself and cocked his gun, turning into a room with his gun drawn, pointed dead center of Ze Mole's broad chest. The Frenchman didn't so much as flinch, taking a calm, careful drag from his smoke. He seemed quite relaxed –seemed being the operative word- seated in Gregory's overstuffed armchair, boots propped up on the coffee table, a cigarette in one hand, a flask in the other, and his shovel in the crook of his arm.

"Bonjour, Gregory." He greeted jovially, half smiling at the other man.  
"You're drinking. You don't drink."  
"I do today."  
"Why?"  
"My mission iz_ terminé_, and you zaid I have the day off, so I helped myzelf to your liquor."  
"That's rather unlike you, love."  
"Stop calleeng me zat." He took a slow drink and grunted "_Bon_. Vat iz zis?"  
"Brandy or whiskey, I'm not sure which. Is it smooth?"  
"Mmm. _Oui._"  
"Brandy then."

Gregory was vaguely surprised at Christophe's behavior, but he kept the gun level all the same. He had thought the man would put up more of a fight than this, but perhaps the booze was overtaking him. He doubted it, but it was best to be on guard. Christophe seemed content to sit there and smoke, waiting for him to talk.

"Bath time."  
"_Non_." He breathed, taking a final drag off the cigarette, looking more than amused while stubbing it out slowly in the ashtray beside him.  
"This is not a discussion, Mole."  
"Eet iz. _Non, mon cher_. I vill not."  
"Who has the gun here?"  
"I could keel you before zat zing vent off."  
"Let me phrase that again." Gregory drew back the hammer, "Who has the gun AND signs your paychecks?"  
"Fock you, faggot."  
"Come along now."  
"…Beech."

Christophe withdrew his legs off the table and stood anyway, glaring at the British boy and his gun. He smirked at the dangerous toy but said nothing, raising his hands in compliance. Gregory smiled, pleased but making no more to lower the weapon. Mole shrugged his shoulders and allowed himself to be lead. This behavior confused Gregory, but not to the extent that he would do something so silly as lower the gun and leave himself open to a shovel bade arcing towards his face.

He nudged the reluctant by complaint Frenchman to the bathroom and shut and locked the door behind him. Mole twitched, obviously upset at the thought of being caged, but he said nothing. Gregory staved off the want to roll his eyes. Christophe was hardly trapped. In fact the bathroom was quite spacious, almost needlessly so. Everything was immaculate and white with accents of gold. A bit gaudy, yes, but it is what mother had wanted. The tub too had the same motif, large and gold trimmed white claw-foot monstrosity, far bigger than one person needed, and it was already filled to the brim with hot water. Gregory smiled while the mercenary clucked his tongue and crossed his arms.

"Strip."  
"Are you not goeeng to buy me a drink?"  
"You already helped yourself to fathers brandy. Don't make me forcibly disrobe you."  
"Doez Monsieur Gregory 'ave somezeeng planned for _moi_?"  
"A bath. Now take it all off." He pressed the gun to the base of Christophe's skull, smiling at the barely suppressed shiver "I won't ask you again."

Ze Mole smirked, moving away slowly and just enough to give himself a bit of breathing room. Gregory witched idly as the Frenchman nuzzled the tip of the gun briefly and pulled away, taking off his clothing as instructed. The mercenary had at least six months of dirt caked on his otherwise gorgeous body, he noted. Gregory estimated it would take at least thee tub-fulls of hot water just to get the top layer of filth off. If he could get the ill tempered Frenchman to sit still for that long he'd consider it a personal victory.

Christophe finished stripping and, checking that his shovel was no more than an arms length away, he stepped into the bath and sat with a grunt. Immediately the water clouded, sloshing over the edge. Gregory sighed and looked around at the rest of the bathroom. Already most of its surfaces were smudged and dirtied. Water continued to brown and spill over the edge, soaking into the bath mats and various other absorbent surfaces (including Christophe's discarded clothing) turning them and the surrounding floor a dingy, soppy brown. May God have mercy on the maid on call tomorrow.

The blond haired man tut-tutted and picked up the Frenchman's clothing, tossing it in the nearest basket. He knelt beside the tub, stirring the water. How he would have loved to spoil the Frenchman, pamper him with the calming scents and soothe him for once in his life. But Christophe, though he would not kill his boss, would certainly maim him to teach him a lesson. Gregory carefully raised his hand and pressed his thumbnail to Mole's bare shoulder, scratching off layer upon layer of dirt and grime.

"Tsk, tsk. You're more dirt than man, love."  
"I told you to stop calleeng me zat. I vill not ask you again."  
"Apologies, _mon ami_."

The Brit continued to amuse himself looking for skin underneath the muck. When he bored of that he stood and holstered the weapon, seemingly satisfied that the naked Mole could do him no real hidden harm. He got a half smile in return. Then Christophe suddenly took a breath and plunged under the surface, coming back up a few moments later. His shook his head like a dog, spat out any remaining water, and snorted.

"Zere. I am done. Now move an' let me go back to vat I vas doeeng."  
"You're bleeding dirt and mud. This is not clean"  
"Fock you, faggot. I do not vant to be a pretty smelleeng beech like you. I am a mercenary. Zere iz no need for me to-"  
"Oh hush" Gregory murmured, filling his hand with scrubbing salts while blocking the naked man's path out of the tub "It won't take long and you'll feel better"  
"Az eef you know"  
"Shh."  
"Don' uze any ov zat fancy sheet on me eizer. I am serious, Gregory. _Si je sens n'importe quoi comme une fleur…"_  
"Infiltrate heavily guarded compounds; Simple. Steal precious and secret Intel; Childs play. Assassinate those who you are told; Done without second word or complaint. Far be it from you to follow a simple order of 'hush'. And I'm using the rock soap, for the record. Now hold still."

Mole grunted and turned his back on the Brit, soaking there in the already muddy water. He hissed a bit when Gregory clapped a palm on his back, perhaps a little bit more roughly than he intended. Mole growled in warning, otherwise remaining silent while the blond rubbed the gravely substance over his ruddy back. Gregory continued his work, concentrating on the dirt-coated muscles. Before long the water had turned a disgusting brown, and he was forced to pulled the plug to the tub. Christophe had attempted to get out but Gregory's revolver convinced him to stay put until the water was replaced. The Brit started the process over again, still stuck on the filthy back for the time being.

"Zat sheet 'urts." Mole muttered idly, stewing in the new water.  
"If I could trust you to bathe, I would leave you to your own devices and let you use whatever you please to clean yourself. But I cannot, so I will not."  
"Zis iz not in my contract."  
"Consider it a bonus."  
"For 'om?"

Gregory chuckled, slipping his hand to Ze Mole's front, washing his chest. The Frenchman grinned, leaning back against the thinner mans arm. Christophe seemed to take a special thrill in perplexing the blond Brit today. He was usually never so docile as to accept without at least another hour of fighting. Gregory entertained the notion that he was breaking the mercenary, but that smile Christophe was sporting did not signal a break. He was humoring the Brit, plain and simple, admiring the crease he made form in the otherwise unmarred forehead.

He poured more soap into his hand and scrubbed with renewed vigor, drawing a short groan from the mercenary in the tub. Gregory found it in him to smile, slipping his hand beneath the water for a moment. He was rewarded with an appreciative growl far too close in his ear.

"You could help me, you know."  
"Why bozer?" He replied with a lazy smile "You are doeeng such a good job."  
"You're a big boy. You could at least wash your face and hair. Or would you rather I grind in another handful of this gravel you call soap?"  
"'Ow about you keep zis up an' I vill do ze same for you."  
"You'll willingly wash me in return?"  
"I vas thinkeeng of fockeeng you into ze counter until you screamed vor mercy. But eef all you vant iz a bath…"

The blond had begun to refill the tub with clean water, taking some in his hand and washing off the remaining soap and dirt on the closest shoulder. He smiled, rising the scarred skin. It was brown as dirt, and the Brit considered for a moment Mole was permanently stained that way. Still, he kissed the now clean skin and smiled, washing the attached arm. He had to admit that Mole's proposition was tempting, but effectively turning him into a bathroom attendant was far too tempting. Besides, he knew Christophe would tire of it and he'd end up getting pinned to some sort of semi- stable surface before too long.

Somewhere along the line while Gregory mused, Christophe had started to wash himself as well. They sat in companionable silence for a while scraping off layer after layer of dirt. It was only after wasting a ridiculous amount of time on the mercenary's fingernails that Gregory lifted his eyes and offered the other man a glare for his smirk.

"'Aving trouble, _mon cher_?"  
"You shouldn't' scrub your skin so harshly. This gravel you insist on using does more than enough."  
"Vould you razer I be clean on ze first try or did you vant me to zoak like some pussy faggot?" Gregory smirked at him "Fock you."  
"Perhaps after I get you clean. It shouldn't take too much longer – provided your clothing absorbed some of the dirt you find yourself wallo-"

Gregory's statement found itself hanging unfinished and abrupt in the air, cut off by the sudden sight of a certain Frenchman's hips. When the Brit managed to tear his eyes away and turn his gaze upwards, he was met with the smirking brown eyes of his lover. Gregory tensed, wondering if it was a good idea to holster his weapon. He didn't get too much time to think, however, a he was jerked up off his knees and forced halfway over the rim of the clawfoot tub.

"Non, Gregory." Christophe purred, holding him aloft "I vill not be swayed."  
"A-ah. Christophe – stop this immediately."  
"I do not zink you vant zat."  
"You think wrong." He lied.  
"Zen I am done doeeng vat you vant, Gregory. Eet iz my turn to pick. I choose to… become dirty again."

For a brief moment, a look of repugnant horror flashed across Gregory's face. After all that work and time scraping off all that dirt and muck and he was just going to run back outside and roll around in it like a filthy little piglet? Oh no, Gregory would shoot him before he undid all his hard work. But whatever anger the Brit might have been struggling to hide made the Frenchman chuckle darkly and tug him forward, balancing him precariously between bathwater and toned body. The instant they collided thought ceased in Gregory's head, if only for a moment. That moment was enough for Ze Mole to strike.

Gregory suddenly found himself in the air, held up by damp arms and pressed against an equally damp chest. His mind reeled for a few moments, caught between worrying over the state of his clothing and the broad damp chest pressed up against him in all the right ways. The ideas in Christophe's head were becoming clear now, especially with where his hand was headed.

Christophe clasped the British man's neck, drawing him up for a kiss before dropping him to the immaculate white counter, pinning him there. Distantly Gregory noticed him dripping slightly stained water on the counter and wondered if the maid would cry when she found all this mess. His thoughts were derailed, however, when the Frenchman subtly slipped his hand between denim and skin.

"I am steel not too familiar wiv your turns ov phrase, _mon coeur_." Christophe murmured, kissing the other man slowly "Iz zeese not 'dirty'?"  
"N-No this is… is very dirty." Gregory panted a little and squirmed, trying to move toward the hand in his jeans "Very dirty indeed – now please move you hand a little more to the lef- ah! Oh God-"  
"God ees not 'ere now. 'Ow may I 'elp you?"

Gregory hissed, unable to scold the mercenary. He always found his words failed him in situations like this – something that always flustered the Brit to no end. He was so good with words – why did a few simple strokes render him so helpless? Whatever the reason, the sly smile his Mole flashed him made his gut churn anger and excitement, the rough hand slipping that much lower.

"Tel me, _mon ange_, ven vas ze last time ve vere… intimate, hm? Ben a long time, non?"  
"Oui."

Christophe grinned, placing a kiss on the hollow of his throat, taking the chain with his cross in his teeth and bringing it up to Gregory's mouth, kissing him with it. When he pulled away, he squeezed, making the blond Brit gasp and mar the Queen's English he was so fond of using, the filthy words passing over the symbol of his beloved lord. Ze Mole smiled. How he had corrupted this creature. How to reward this corruption for accepting him so readily?

Gregory sighed, kissed again, languidly accepting the contact. Ze Mole never went down on his knees to pleasure him. Gregory was always below him; sprawled out and venerable or pinned to beneath the mercenary's weight. To the Brit, he always seemed to be bowing- showing reverence but never surrender. Such was the case now, the clean face nuzzling his stomach and hipbones. In an instant his shirt was ripped open, the tingle of skin pressing against skin making him tremble. He recognized distantly that Mole hadn't shaved, and the prickly, coarse feeling served only to make him tremble and forget how to speak faster. A few open-mouthed kisses along his bare skin left him completely wordless, squirming and whining for the contact the mercenary was so skillfully denying him.

And then there suddenly was contact, and Gregory screamed. He groaned and whined and screamed out unintelligible noises, much to his chagrin. He was almost too far-gone to take any notice, but the slightly coherent part of him winced every time he grunted or cursed. It was terrible, what this man reduced him to. He had been a perfectly respectable young man until the filthy little Mole burrowed into his yard…

Christophe pulled his mouth off of him, licking the underside of the Brit's cock lazily, drawing a whine from him. Gregory lifted his head up, catching the smirk on the mercenaries face before he bowed his head again, taking him to the hilt. He screamed again, the tail end of it strangled by a moan caused from the Frenchman's chuckle vibrating around him. He reached out, grabbing the wet hair in his fist, drawing him closer. Ever the cocky bastard (he took far too much pleasure in reducing the composed mastermind into a babbling wreck), Christophe happily complied. He did so well that Gregory, in a stunning moment of clarity, remembered how to speak again and began to praise while the mercenary brought him to glorious completion.

It was around then that Christophe pulled away for good, smiling at the half-whimpering Brit. That smile turned into a smirk the more the blond glared. He palmed the slicked cock, pressing it against his hips, grinning at the way Gregory threw his head back and moaned some sort of curse.

"My poor ears" The Frenchman cooed "Zey burn ven you talk zo harshly."  
"Silence you insufferable cur!" Gregory replied, half laughing, "Don't you dare talk like that. You know full well you're far worse than I shall ever be."  
"Zo? I never zaid I did not like, _mon ange_. En fact, I love eet."

Gregory kissed him – more to shut him up than anything else. Even through the ulterior motive, the Brit still shivered and clung to the man. Christophe pushed up on his back in response, drawing him closer. He'd never say it, but he lived for moments like this. A life of terrible risks and near fatal everything was one he relished in, but this sudden switch left him on an edge his job never provided. It wasn't that he was able to relax or that he actually liked being soft -but the fight within himself between wanting to give in and the chance that any enemy could show up and bring his end made him tremble with excitement. Be that as it may – rather, because that could very well be the case – he reached down and stroked whatever skin he happened to reach first. It just happened to be a rather sensitive part, and the blond boy in his arms sighed and moaned with abandon.

"You're terrible!" Gregory cried, arching into the rough hand on his body "Sex crazed lunatic! I will go mad if you touch me again."  
"_Oui_. I am an inzufferable bastard. I can not 'elp it."  
"God loves you."  
"Your God can kees my arze."  
"I love you."  
"You can kees eet too." He kissed the other man, deep and slow. "_Je t'aime_."  
"I know, I know." He gasped "But no matter how much you touch me- you naughty thing -you will not get out of having a proper bath."  
"Ve vill zee about zat." Christophe murmured "Vor eef you can not move your legs, zen I 'ave nozzing to vorry about. Let us zee eef I can not make dat 'appen."  
"Christophe!"

* * *

**Dirty, but not so much that I get kicked off the site, non? **

**Thanks for reading. Review if you're so inclined and have a nice day.**

**Quick French translations so you can say you learned something from a fanfiction!**  
**Terminé = **Completed  
**Bon = **Good  
**Oui = **Yes  
**Non =** No  
**Non, mon cher = **No, my dear  
**Moi =** I  
**Mon ami = My friend **  
**Si je sens n'importe quoi comme une fleur… = **If I smell anything like a flower…  
**Mon coeur =** My heart  
**Mon ange = **My angel  
**Je t'aime = **I love you


End file.
